A time of miracles
by MasterPassionCreed
Summary: It is her very first rebellion. To everyone else, it is a terrible wonder.


**A time of miracles**

The day she comes to the city is a day of clear air, enriched by festive hymns and many promises. It is radiant, free from snow and frost, the new Christmas to this faith — she is received in town like pure sunlight, and all of Columbia mirrors her shine.

To her eyes, even from the shade of her crib, the city looks blinding. Anna senses a gap; there is a variance, both in her sight and in her memories. The outline of the sky never used to be this white — she breathes air that is as clean as it feels distant, open, unfamiliar.

Not so long ago, her world was smoky and dense. It was not truly pleasant, and yet it was hers; if irregular, its laws had their own meanings, and were as certain as the rhythm of her heart. There were hiatuses, rage and peace; there were sensations, and to each its time.

In the blurred world Anna remembers, there was a code of sounds, and its meanings are rooted in her life just like sleep or breath can be. In times of need, all she had to do was cry — he would always come for her. Not always, not immediately; he still arrived, and with him was a bundle of gestures, of smells and warmth. Always identical to itself, it only meant one thing, the same thing. It was just him.

Anna has a memory of grey, humid and stale, drowned in silences that could last for days. It was born with her, and all she ever saw; food and shelter she is offered in this home don't respond to that one need tearing her heart. And when she finds she is lost — not in the usual way — she starts calling.

At first it is never enough; it takes her little to understand that nothing, no matter how long the wait, ever goes back to match the images in her mind. Someone comes, right away, bringing her food and sounds; but it is never him, never the same.

Tenacity won't let her stop. While her senses adapt, the rest of her doesn't — what follows her meals is not true peace, and neither is the pattern of her sleep. Anna tries harder each time, until her line of thought starts rearranging itself.

Soon enough, the concept makes its way in some quiet part of her brain, turning it into genuine activity; a horizon, a buzz of possibilities, grows in her mind.  
Wishing is not enough to survive; then she starts fighting to make it happen. When she can gather her strength, she struggles to bring it close — all she has got, all the colours and lights of her past, the part of her that slips farther as time goes by.

She stretches her arms. Just inches away from her reach, her story is being told anew.

It is on the streets of Columbia that she first shows herself to the world — when space is torn by her power, when different realities pour on the citizens, sweeping their minds with terror. They witness the beginning, and fear more might happen; but nobody can, in full, make the connection. The wonder, imperfect, unfolds in front of her eyes — an imperfect storm, come from the fierce willpower of a child. It is her very first rebellion. To everyone else, it is a terrible wonder.

To overcome disbelief and fear, the Columbians seek their faith, joining in chants and acclamations of glory. Within her soul, it all is much simpler — she calls her own world, she opens windows on the city. There are few who link the force to her; the same people, the bearers of her secrets, only want them to be closed.

Just as her efforts grow, however, the fate of her world turns into shards; it is no longer made by more than glimpses, even less real than the myths built on her birth.

By the time Anna is strong enough, she finds herself locked in a tower.

Outside, the celebrations end, the presence of the tears vanishes. All her memory awakens in Columbia is blind devotion, with a few unspoken fears; to her new father, she leaves the task of adding more lies to the frail balance of his city. The Prophet sets to his task — he can feel the questions up in the air, drifting with the town.

"Leave physics to us, father Comstock," says Rosalind Lutece, slightly amused by his uncertainty. "The theological truths are in your hands. After all, isn't this a time of miracles?"

That night, after the sermon, a string of fearful prayers crosses Columbia. Behind the walls, under the watch of science, Elizabeth falls asleep.

* * *

_To Jen with love. As promised._


End file.
